The Unfortunate Effects of Firewhiskey
by RightToRemainSilent
Summary: The beginning of their sixth year gets off to a drunken start, and two of the marauders have a little more than causing alcohol-fuelled havoc in mind. At least, not the sort James is likely to think of. :wolfstar oneshot:


**AN: **First forray into Wolfstar/Potter fic in general. But writing the Marauders seemed far more entertaining than revising, and I do love Sirius/Remus, so... hm.  
><strong>Disclaimer: <strong>Characters aren't mine. I've just got them drunk and entertained myself with them.

* * *

><p><strong>The [Un]Fortunate Effects of Firewhiskey<strong>

"Sirius."

Sirius presses against him a little harder. "Mm?"

Though significantly distracted by whatever it is Sirius is doing to his earlobe, Remus is still one for preserving a little dignity. "Sirius, the door."

The room is quiet and, despite its inhabitants only being back at school for a week, unbelievably messy. Remus' brain somehow finds this fact very important, though he isn't sure how, especially as Sirius has gone back to gently nipping at his neck and his back appears to have become one with the wall. He decides, reluctantly, that something has to be done before he stops caring about dignity all together. "Sirius, if you don't stop that right now, I'm going back to the library to work on my essay."

"You've finished your essay." Sirius' mouth is somewhere near his pulse. "And s'after lights out."

"Entirely besides the point. What is not besides the point, however, is that the locking charm on the door will not keep James and Peter out." Sirius' fingers have wormed their way under his shirt. "And neither will that."

"Spoilsport."

"If you want James to walk in on his best friend being snogged to death by a werewolf then by all means, leave it as it is." Now Remus is smirking, partly because he knows he's won, but mostly because he's rather looking forward to Death by Snogging.

Sirius isn't all that against it either. He sighs dramatically and straightens. Remus restrains the urge to brush tangled hair out of his eyes, in order to maintain the upper hand and air of responsibility, and Sirius draws his wand out of his back pocket. "I suppose I could do _something_." He directs it at the door and the handle glows orange for a moment or two.

"That'll do, Black." Sufficiently pleased that there will be no awkward explanations to a drunken James, Remus grabs Sirius' shirtfront and pulls him closer. "Now, where were we?"

OOO

James Potter decides he really likes fire-whiskey. He likes the taste of it, and he likes the act of drinking it because it makes him feel a bit more mature than a butter beer, and he likes the way it makes him feel like he could conquer the world if he felt like it– which, at this precise moment, he doesn't. What he feels like at this precise moment is falling into an undignified heap on his bed and not surfacing until noon, or at the very least ten. The reason he hasn't been able to do exactly that, is one that his inebriated self hasn't quite managed to sort out yet.

His head is all floaty and he can feel the start of the First Hangover of Term - also the first hangover of sixth year, he realises - building already, and he wonders vaguely where Sirius went, and when. He remembers sitting out by the lake with him, the bottles of smuggled alcohol disappearing rapidly. He also remembers Remus turning up a bit later, joining them for their evening of teenage abandon only after he'd finished his essay for Transfiguration. Peter had been there too, but Pettigrew can hold his drink as well as he can play Quidditch, and had been sprawled on the grass in no time.

And after that, James had donned The Cloak and managed to get back into the Castle and, miraculously, up to the common room without making too much of a fuss, despite having a barely-there Peter propped under his arm. No paintings disturbed, Peeves had remained out of sight and they had even managed to negotiate with the Fat Lady. So why, he thinks fuzzily, isn't he already in bed and blissfully unconscious? It is certainly a conundrum. One Peter decides to comment on, in fact, from the windowsill James has unceremoniously dumped him on. The moonlight filtering in through the window makes him look strangely ethereal.

"Why 're we out here?"

James shrugs. They're standing outside the dormitory. The workings of the door handle are not beyond James' intelligence even when drunk, so that shouldn't be a problem. And yet…

"Dunno Pete. Bloody door won't open."

Peter doesn't seem to find this very concerning, and starts to doze off. James frowns at the door. Sirius would know what to do, because Sirius knows all sorts of dodgy magic and could explain why the door won't open even when James has tried the spell to undo the charmed lock multiple times. But Sirius, sneaky bastard, had crept away God knows how long ago and is probably sound asleep under a hedge somewhere. Come to think of it, Remus isn't around either. He can't remember when it only became Peter and him. He's about to ask Peter's opinion on this, possibly with a lewd suggestion added in for his own amusement, when he realises Peter is snoring gently.

James sighs. "Bugger it."

OOO

"Y'know, I'd almost forgotten what this place looked like."

"It's exactly the same as your bed, Sirius, only nearer the window and decidedly tidier."

Sirius grins and rolls onto his side. "Yeah, but s'got you in it. And it's been six weeks, Moony. A man can forget what his boyfriend's drapes are like."

Remus pats him on the head affectionately. "I'm sure that sounded much less like a euphemism in your head." Six weeks is, though, a very long time, even if they did spend the summer writing copious letters back and forth.

Sirius' hand ghosts across Remus' chest, lingering absently on any new additions to his scars. "Can forget that too."

"Now you're just being rude." Remus chides, but smiles anyway. "And when did I become your boyfriend?" Nimble fingers brush the jagged claw marks across his collarbone. Remus doesn't stop him.

"When we started doing this."

"Mmm." Remus nods lazily. He drapes an arm across the other boy's waist and closes the little space between them. "I'd forgotten what this was like." Sirius nuzzles into the hollow of his throat, his breath tickling his neck.

"S'nice isn't it?"

Remus rolls them over until Sirius is beneath him and grins. "I suppose it is."

OOO

Peter is woken when the dormitory door opens and he is startled to the point of falling inelegantly off the windowsill. This all happens rather quickly, and it takes him a moment to realise he's on the floor. "Oh."

"Mornin' Pete!"

He looks up in time for Sirius to grin at him and clatter down the dormitory stairs. Remus is standing in the doorway. Peter blinks owlishly. "Oh." He says again. Remus decides his friend isn't capable of coherent speech just yet, and follows Sirius downstairs.

Sirius finds James slumped sideways in one of the huge armchairs by the fireplace, snoring lightly. A small huddle of new first years are sat at a nearby study table, watching the sleeping sixth year with interest. Their heads snap back to their homework when Sirius gives them a grin that's probably more on the scary side of cheerful, and James doesn't stay snoring for long after that.

"Pads?" He squints up at the shaggy head looming over him, and pats the armchair for his glasses. "Time is it?"

"No idea."

James sits up and eyes his friend with trepidation. "You're cheery. What've you done?"

Sirius battens down the childish urge to say 'Remus J. Lupin', and winks conspiratorially instead. "Got a great idea for a Welcome Back present for Snape. Involves your darling self, Snape's cloak and a packet of itching powder." He pauses, making sure he's the picture of innocence. "How come you're down here?"

James sniffs indignantly. "Dormitory wouldn't open. Reckon someone's charmed it. Bloody first years, my guess. They will suffer for their deeds." He yawns. "Where did you get off to, anyway?"

Sirius shrugs, and catches Remus' eye as the werewolf appears at the foot of the dormitory stairs, looking too fresh and neat for his own good. "Ah, about. You know me. Fancy breakfast?"

"It's only ten. There should at least be some toast left in the Great Hall if we hurry." Remus adds, grinning over the back of the armchair before slipping out of the portrait hole.

James stands and stretches, patting at his hair in a futile attempt to make it presentable. "Ah, Saturdays." Then something dawns on him. He freezes. Sirius can almost see things slotting together in James' head as his fellow marauder decides that something is Not Right. Exactly what is Not Right comes to him a second later. "Oi, Moony! How did you get into the dormitory?"

Peter slumps his way down the stairs just as James skids out of the common room, a vision of loveliness in day-old clothes and slightly askew glasses. Peter gives the common room a confused look, as if the furniture could helpfully explain what he's missed.

Sirius shrugs at him. "Fire-whiskey, it seems, has an unfortunate effect on our dear Prongs. Can't be helped." He slings an arm around Peter's shoulders and steers him towards the portrait hole. He has a feeling the coming year isn't going to be half bad. "Now, how about that breakfast?"


End file.
